A NotSoSimple Plan
by Gillikin
Summary: Suffering the loss of his godfather, Harry searches for a way to reclaim what was taken from him, and only the people who can help him do it can help him stop it! midHBP Chapter 12!
1. Chapter 1

The pain of losing Sirius was still with Harry, though he tried to ignore it. Sirius, as irresponsible as he was, was his best hope at having a real home, a real family. No one seemed to care but Harry – the others would never know what Harry went through after Sirius went through a curtain! A curtain! What sort of idiot at the Ministry of Magic constructed a curtain to separate the Space Betwixt the World of the Living, and the World of the Dead? "O, th' pain!" Harry cried. "If only Sirius had not gone beyond the veil! O, ruinous fortune! I defy you, oh Fate! I spurn your decree! I shall find a way to retrieve him!"

There was a terrible clap of thunder that shook the very walls of Hogwarts at this decree. Upon the highest parapet, Harry cried his resolute pledge of determination, to find a way to retrieve his godfather from the World of the Dead! Dumbledore had told Harry that there was no way of doing it, that once dead, a witch or wizard couldn't be summoned back, but Harry knew that he could do it! He had defeated the Dark Lord when he was only a child, he had time and time again gotten through impossible feats of magical mayhem! Nothing was beyond his scope!

Oh, hubris!

"Somewhere within the Restricted Section of the Library there must be an answer to my problem!" Harry resolutely exclaimed. "But the secret of eking out knowledge from books lies within only the grasp of my good friend Hermione! I am a Man of Action, not of Erudite Scholarship! Hermione shall never approve of my endeavors! Never!"

Harry could sense that he was no longer alone – there was a light feeling on the air that wasn't there a moment before, the suffusion of hope and light into the dark corners of his soul. He whirled around to see a girl standing in the twilight, the soft light of stars softening the features of her face, and keeping him from figuring out if her hair was a soft honey blond, a vibrant red, or a rich chestnut brown. What he could tell was that she had an understated beauty that, even in the darkness, assaulted his senses with its loveliness. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her voice filled with uncertainty, "I didn't think that anyone would be up here."

"Neither did I, it's why I came up here," Harry said brusquely. "I wanted to be alone."

"Oh, I'm so very sorry," she said once again, her voice almost to tears. "I come up here sometimes – it isn't easy being an exchange student from America, and I miss my friends and family so very much…"

"Yes, well, that's fine, but I have issues of my own that I need to deal with," Harry said, starting to head for the stairs down, "so if you'll excuse me…"

"I overheard what you were speaking about, and I think that I can help you in this," she said quickly, in one giant breath.

"My affairs are my own, and are not meant to be bandied about, especially by pretty young girls such as yourself!"

The girl blushed at the compliment that slipped in amongst Harry's upset feelings. "A girl has a way of picking up on things, and when you're new to a place, you learn to learn as much as you possibly can about whatever it is that you're stuck in. There's a boy here in this school who I think could help you to…" her bell-like voice dropped off, leaving volumes unsaid.

"To bring back Sirius? Are you serious?" Harry asked excitedly.

"I've been, ever since I was young, Clairvoyant – it is the burden which I must bear, and when I came here, I noticed that there was a boy who has an aura of the World Beyond about him. He himself is caught between; neither fully alive nor fully…" again, her voice trailed off, unable to continue. A lone tear fell from her sparkling eyes that, in the moonlight, appeared silvery blue. "If anyone could help you in this endeavor, it would be Gildor Ravenwing."

"How do I know I can trust you, and that you aren't simply trying to make fun of me?" Harry asked her. "I don't even know your name!"

"I'm Melanie Rayne Farmer, but you can call me Mel," she said. "I don't know how to convince you that I'm speaking the truth, except to say that I have no reason to want to hurt you, or deceive you."

There was an earnest truthfulness in the girl's declaration – Harry couldn't help but believe that she was speaking the truth. "Fine, Mel," he said, "I'm Harry Potter; call me Harry. Take me to this friend of yours, then."

Authors' Notes:

Gillikin: Hey! I'm writing this with my friend Lyssoh, so if sometimes the writing style is a little different, don't worry! Mel is my character, and Gil belongs to her! We totally have some great ideas for this fic! Our Best Friend Meg helped name the story (love!), she's our BETA! Plz R&R!

Lyssoh:

Chris and I don't own Harry Potter (becuz if I did Sirius would be mine SO SEXI LOL). Read and review and I'll give you cookies (lol cookies). R&R the story and check back often for more!


	2. Chapter 2

Gildor Ravenwing of Seregon, or Gil, as he was affectionately known as, tucked a rogue lock of his straight, shimmering silver hair tipped with blood red behind his ear and he paused to look out of the window of the Gryffindor common room. It was raining and depressing, and that made Gil happy (but not really because he is gothic and is never truly happy). Jagged fingers of lightning tore the clouds apart and lit up the gloomy common room where Gil sat writing in his journal. Turning back to his diary, he tossed his head, his bangs falling delicately in front of his fathomless gray eyes that were the color of a stormy winter sky. Gil dipped his quill into the black inkwell that was black like his soul and then scratched out the last sentence in his journal in which he described the day's melodrama. Mulling momentarily over how to end his journal, he decided on ending it with some lyrics from a Simple Plan song, which was his favorite band which anybody could tell from just looking at his shirt because he was wearing a Simple Plan shirt.

_How could this happen to me  
I've made my mistakes  
got nowhere to run  
the night goes on  
As I'm fading away  
I'm sick of this life  
I just wanna scream  
How could this happen to me_

Gildor sang aloud the verse to the empty common room in his soulful, velvety voice. He was a good singer because he was the leader of his band _Kill Me Quickly_, the critically acclaimed punk rock band and he played bass guitar just like Pierre from Simple Plan. Just as Gildor finished serenading the empty common room, Melanie and Harry walked through the portrait hole.

"Oh! It's you, Gil. We were looking for you," said Melanie.

Gildor tossed his head in a half-hearted attempt to remove his bangs from his eyes, "I knew, of course," he said before adding, "Because I'm half-ghost."

Melanie's eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill over, "I'm sorry to interrupt your song."

"Nonsense, I knew you were coming because I am half-ghost and therefore, you could not interrupt me. I used my powers to time your entrance exactly with the end of my song. You should come to see my band. We're playing in Hogsmeade next weekend," said Gildor, closing his journal with his mind and turning his flashing silver eyes upon Melanie, who took a step back.

Harry blurted out, "Mel enlightened me to the fact that the blood of Ghosts flows in your veins and that you have the erudition to help us bring back my beloved godfather to the world in which he previously existed—the world of the living!"

Gildor paused thoughtfully, resting his pale, delicate hand beneath his equally pale and delicate chin.

Harry brought his hand to his forehead and clutched the arm of a chair, fearing that he would swoon beneath the weight of drama that had suddenly descended upon his shoulders, "I cannot, will not, accept the truths told to me by Dumbledore that a wizard cannot be brought back!"

Gil exclaimed in his mournful, gothic voice, "It can be done! I will help you because I, too, know the pain of losing someone so dear to my heart."

Gil turned towards the rain-battered window.

"Oh," Mel descended upon him, stroking his arm soothingly, "Have you lost a loved one to a curtain?"

"No," replied Gil, sadly. "But I am gothic, so I always feel like this."

"Oh," said Mel.

Gil turned to Harry, "Do you have a personal item belonging to the," he paused dramatically, "…deceased?"

"One moment," said Harry, his eyes lighting up as the gears in his head began to turn, "I shall venture to my dormitory and search."

Harry dashed up the steps to his dormitory, his footfalls fast and heavy. He threw open the door to his dorm and dove into his trunk, tossing aside various possessions and creating a mess until he found what he was looking for. He ran back into the common room and raised a dog-eared old school-issued scarf above his head triumphantly.

"A-ha!" he cried, brandishing the scarf that was so threadbare that it barely existed.

"Harry, that's your scarf," said Mel, "And it looks in pretty bad shape."

She tried to snatch it from Harry's hands, "Let me fix it for you! I know how to sew!"

Harry whirled the scarf from out of Mel's reach, "It's not the scarf, but rather what's on the scarf."

"What?" asked Mel, who was slightly confused.

"This cursed scarf yields my godfather's dog hair!" cried Harry triumphantly.

"I do not bring back dead dogs," sighed Gil, indignantly.

"My godfather was only sometimes a dog, but not very often," explained Harry.

"That makes sense," said Gil. He beckoned them to follow him through the portrait hole.

"We have to find a spot in the castle where it is safe and easy to extract a person from the land of the dead. Since I am half-ghost, I can find this place very easily," said Gil, tossing his head.

"Lead us, Gil! I can no longer bear to stand another moment without my beloved godfather!" cried Harry.

The trio followed Gil through the portrait hole, through what seemed like an endless amount of random hallways and corridors and up and down various staircases before Gil stopped in front of a broom closet.

"Are you sure this place is going to work?" asked Mel, doubtfully.

Gil brought his index finger to his pale lips and shushed Mel, "Yes, because I'm a half-ghost, I can tell that this closet is the most spiritually active point in the entire castle."

Gil seized the door knob with his hand, turned it, and flung it open. Harry and Mel followed Gil into the closet. Gil locked the door with his wandless magic because he was half-ghost.

"Your godfather's scarf, er-dog hair then, please?" Gil asked, extending a hand. Harry bequeathed his scarf that was covered in fine, black dog hair to Gil. Gil produced his collapsible cauldron and began to set it up on the dusty floor. He plucked a dog hair from the scarf and dropped it into the cauldron before adding a few vials of liquids of varying colors. Mel watched, transfixed by the skillfulness of Gil's delicate hands.

"You must be quite skilled or perhaps you have done this numerous times," said Harry, "because you do not use a set of instructions."

"I'm half-ghost," said Gil as he prodded the flames beneath the cauldron with his wand. He straightened up. A faint green glow filled the room, illuminating Gil's silvery orbs and river of silvery hair tipped with red.

"Okay," said Gil, "It's ready."

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Authors' Notes:

Gillikin: Lyssoh wrote this!

Lyssoh: We don't own Harry Potter lol!


	3. Chapter 3

Gil mumbled some arcane words in a language that neither Harry nor Mel could understand – for it was the very tongue of spirits and specters which he spoke. His wand made curious motions in the air, and as the dim green light pulsed, a thick smoke began to arise from the cauldron, all but obscuring the three in it's misty gloom. The very air buzzed with enchantment; the scent of magic lay thick and dense in the closet.

Suddenly, Mel shrieked, though her form was now obscured by the green mists, her voice cut through them as a sword through a pat of warm butter. "A portent!" she cried.

"What?" Harry said, focusing on the magicworking being done before him, but still concerned for the girl. "What portent?"

"I have already informed you that I have been well-gifted in Visions since I was young – surely you have taken Divination, the air of the unknown hangs about you, which only the opening of the mind obtained by training in such matters can produce! The burning of certain herbs and plants produces a smoke with which one can use to peer into the matters of the future! This is such a smoke! I have such training! I have Seen!"

Gil, ignoring all but the call of his half-ghost side, continued with his mumbling and wand waving.

"What is it that you have foretold?" Harry asked her.

"Not weal, but woe! Woe! Woe shall betide us all!" she cried, her silvery voice trembling. "This jade miasma has informed me of its intent unless immediate action is taken! Gil, whatever you do, you must not…"

Before she could finish, there was a final, giant flash of light, an explosion of magic so powerful that it knocked Mel to the floor, unconscious. The smoke cleared, and Gil stood over his cauldron, a light sweat upon his brow – he wiped his forehead and smoothed his silvery locks back. "It is done!" he cried triumphantly.

"If it's finished, where's Sirrius!" Harry said angrily, "Where is he? What's happened to Mel?"

"This was a spell of summoning," Gil said simply. "It has called to him from across the Barrier between the Living and the Dead! Even now, he approaches, and works his way here to you, Harry! He shall come back, surely you know that these things take time – Voldemort took years."

"You can say his name with ease," said Harry, slightly shocked, as this was not something that one encountered in the Wizarding World outside of the naïve Muggle-born.

"I am a half-ghost, Harry. What have I to fear from death?"

"But what about Mel, then! Why is she unconscious, prone upon the floor of this broom closet!"

"The vast amounts of mystic powers invoked by this conjuration must have overwhelmed her senses – she is but a girl, and sensitive to the Unknown," Gil answered. "We must all, at some time or another, be taken over by the darkness from within."

"Mel, are you alright!" Harry cried, kneeling down to her. The greenish light still emanated from the cauldron, giving her eyes an emerald tint (or it would have, had they been open), and lending an unearthly air to her features. Her eyes fluttered, now showing the emerald tint, and she gazed upwards into Harry's now doubly-emerald eyes. "You're alright!" he said gratefully.

"Oh Harry," she murmured, her voice barely audible, "did he? Did he stir the cauldron with his wand… widdershins?"

"I, I don't know. I'm not even sure what that means," he said sheepishly.

"Gil!" she said slightly louder, "Gil, did you stir the potion with your wand!"

"Yes," he answered simply. "I did."

"Did you stir it in a clockwise fashion, or counter-clockwise?" Mel asked, managing to sit up with the help of Harry.

"Counter-clockwise," Gil answered. "I am well accustomed to this sort of summoning, and counter-clockwise is always how it is to be done! Are you accusing me of not being a half-ghost?"

"Oh, ruin!" she cried, leaning back into Harry's strong chest. "Sirius Black did not die a natural death, but instead traveled directly into the Land of the Dead via a curtain!"

"Curtains!" cried Gil.

"Yes, curtains!" she wailed. "The proper method to stir the potion was deasil, not widdershins! Clockwise, not counter-clockwise! O, the burden of my gift!" Here she swooned into Harry's arms.

"Gil, what will happen?" Harry said, worriedly.

"Even I cannot say," said Gil. "We can only wait, and practice in our bands until the time comes when all is revealed!"

"I only hope I have not involved the two of you in something unbearable," Harry said, as he carried Mel out of the closet, and into the awaiting night.

------------------------------

Author's Notes:

Chris: Did you know that deasil was the opposite of widdershins? _I_ did.

Lyssoh: I DID NOT KNOW. GOOD THING YOU WERE THERE LOL


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning at breakfast, Harry swirled his cup of icy cold pumpkin juice and stared into the frothy drink dejectedly. Students filed into the Great Hall in small groups, rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning. Ron arrived and sat down opposite Harry and  
promptly began to eat his breakfast.

"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Ron through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, noticing Harry was not touching his toast. "Can I have your toast?"

"Please, Ron, take this toast away from my plate," sighed Harry, "I can't bear to look at it any longer."

"Hello," said Hermione cheerfully as she arrived at the table, taking a seat next to Harry. She glanced at Harry and sighed as she began buttering her toast.

"Something wrong, Harry?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I can no longer hide my feelings, for they show ever so clearly upon my countenance," wailed Harry as he buried his face in his hands.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"My thoughts, my very being has been consumed with grief since my beloved godfather was taken suddenly by that dreaded curtain. Last night, Mel, Gil, and I tried in vain to bring him back, but it shall be a fortnight, nay, perhaps longer before we can know for certain," Harry said, his voice nearly breaking from the weight of his words.

"Harry, you know you can't," Hermione said, pausing as she searched for words that wouldn't send Harry into a fit of hysteria, "bring someone back."

"Mel told me it could be done! She has the power of Sight and she saw it and relayed to me that it could be done through Gil because has the power!" said Harry.

"He is half-ghost, Hermione," interjected Ron who pointed with his fork for emphasis.

"I know," sighed Hermione, "But it cannot be done. I've read extensively on the subject. It simply cannot be done."

"It can be done! It has been done!" Harry cried, waving his arms animatedly.

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice and then gathered her personal effects, "It hasn't been done because it can't be done. I'm not going to sit here and argue. I'll see you later, then."

Ron shoveled his last spoonful of eggs into his mouth and then followed Hermione out, giving Harry a feeble wave good-bye.

"Abandoned," lamented Harry to his half-eaten breakfast, "Abandoned in my time of need."

Mel arrived at Harry's side promptly, having just finished her breakfast. She placed her hand upon Harry's shoulder and cooed, "Harry, I saw you were in distress and I just couldn't bear to watch you any longer."

"Oh, Mel, you truly do have powers," said Harry, folding his napkin and placing it on the table beside his goblet.

"No," admitted Mel, "I was sitting over there."

"Mel, I tire of breaking fast. Let us retire to the grounds and speak of last evening's events," said Harry passively. Mel nodded and they exited the hall.

"Harry, is there anything I can do for you? You look absolutely dreadful," said Mel as she held the door to the grounds open for him.

The grounds were saturated and students were milling about, lifting their robes as they marched through the puddles that were gathered on the ground. The leaves on the trees dripped with rain water. The heavy rains of last night had stirred up the lake, which was now murkier than usual. Harry kicked a stone into the lake as he passed. Mel and Harry sat on a bench under a rather large tree.

"How long do you suppose we will have to wait until we know for certain when, and if, Sirius will be able to return?" asked Harry, his eyes focused squarely on his shoes.

"I can not forsee for certain, see," mumbled Mel, "But using my powers of Sight, I can see that the answers will come to us soon enough, but I fear it may not be what you want to hear!"

Mel turned to Harry and patted his hand sympathetically. Harry could see her chocolaty emerald icy blue eyes filling with tears. She was distraught, horrified at not being able to help Harry. She nearly fell at his feet when—

"Gil is yonder! Maybe he can give us an educated estimate because he is half ghost!" cried Harry as he leapt to his feet and dashed off to Gil.

Gil couldn't hear Harry's cries of excitement because he was listening to My Chemical Romance on his iPod that he had magically enchanted with magic so he could listen to it on Hogwarts grounds because he tried the iWitch and the 4gb new iWizard but it wasn't as good as his new video iPod with the U2 guys's names on the back. But he was happy to play My Chemical Romance at full volume while he magically taped up posters for his appearance at Hogsmeade to every bench, tree, rock, and wall that would allow his spellotape to stick. He jammed along to "My Helena" by My Chemical Romance, which  
was his favorite song at the moment, while a bunch of groupies bunched and grouped around him. He barely noticed.

"Gildor!" said Harry as he tapped Gil on the shoulder.

"Hello, Harry," said Gil, pulling one earbud out of his ear and leaving the other one in so he could listen to "My Helena" by My Chemical Romance. Tossing his head to remove his silvery bangs from his striking eyes that flashed like lightning or something equally bright that flashes, Gil turned to his groupies that were grouping around him and dismissed them with a casual, "Later, groupies."

The groupies pouted, some cried, and a few took their own lives in grief before they dissipated.

"Gil, you must give me some sort of educated estimate of when we can expect some word from Sirius," pleaded Harry.

"I am a half-ghost," said Gil, "but even I can't say!"

"My eyes!" cried Harry, "They fill with tears."

Harry rushed back inside the castle, pushing students out of his way, and knocking Colin Creevey into the lake, crying the whole way.

---------------------------

Authors' Notes:

Gillikin: My sister was married today! I'm so tired, I'm glad that Lyssoh wrote this. Anything to say, Lyssoh?

Lyssoh: I AM AWFUL WITH THESE THINGS LOL


	5. Chapter 5

Colin dragged himself out of the lake – his camera was thankfully waterproof, and the rest of him was used to being shoved into things (he _was_ Colin Creevy after all). Mel stood next to the lake, poised, and ready to spring into action and follow after the now weeping Harry Potter. Gil looked at his reflection in the lake, now that Colin had stopped thrashing – he needed a touch more mascara, Gil reflected.

"Can I take a picture?" Colin asked of the two, brandishing his iconic camera in their general direction. "Golly, I can't believe that I'm actually standing next to a half-ghost and an American, at the same time!"

"I suppose, but just one," said Mel. "I find that having too many representations of my likeness floating around just tends to cause trouble."

Millions upon millions of miles away, a few minutes prior, a ray of sunlight left our celestial star's surface – the product of immense nuclear fission – leaving it's home, a glorious fireball which, if one were to visit it, it would consume one's entire being into itself until nothing was left, and yet, without such an all-devouring orb, life would be impossible on earth – and pierced through the heavy cloud cover surrounding Hogwarts for but a moment, illuminating Mel in a golden halo, and leaving Gil deep in Mel's shadow, heightening his somberness as much as Mel's beauty was, for one evanescent moment, heightened.

Later, when Colin Creevy developed the picture, he found himself in tears. As it was, he dropped to his knees and cried, "I would spend my days worshiping you as a goddess!"

"You have taken your picture; I will allow you to keep it as a cherished keepsake – but be warned, should you take another without my permission," she whipped out her wand and mumbled something in her clear voice," it and the original shall fade out of existence – I have altered your relationship to all cameras using your own personal camera as a conduit for my charm; I am especially good at charms, you will find it unbreakable by all normal means."

"The picture I took shall remain forever a treasure to me," said Collin, breathlessly, "Golly." He ran away quickly to have it immediately printed off.

Gil looked with a leary eye at Mel. "Does this happen often?"

"As I said, having too many photograms of myself simply tends to cause problems. I am," she confessed with a down-turned and modest head, "one-third Veela."

"This would explain the almost irresistible charms you seem to have over the hearts of men, aside from myself because half of my heart is already dead," Gil said. A thoughtful look crossed his face, "I think I have stumbled across an idea for a song – one which properly explains my disassociation with the rest of the world and my inability to truly experience the emotion which is often called 'love.'

"Oh Gil, you are ever thoughtful about things that relate to you, and yet, at this moment, I find myself thinking about Harry – I wonder what he is doing, and how I may comfort him in this, his hour of need. I fly to him now! Carry on with your musicianship, Gil, and perhaps you shall figure out a method of determining when Harry might know when or even if Sirius shall return!"

Gil placed the bud back into his ear from his iPod – he would take inspiration from the many songs which it could produce – and in fact, a song by Fall Out Boy, his second-most favorite band, had just begun. He sang in a mournful voice along with the lyrics, outdoing the lead singer, whose life of popularity and adoration had striped him of the true melancholy which he was once in possession of, leaving him only with his eye shadow and waif-like appearance to carry his music career. Gil, being half-ghost, would never have to worry about that happening to him – the area around his eyes needed no additional, artificial darkening.

Mel ran into the castle, looking for Harry. She feared that her search would be fruitless, until she heard the telltale sounds of Harry's crying coming down a corridor. She paused for a moment before opening the door, because it seemed as if Harry was not alone in the room – and Mel would rather die that to intrude. The other voice she heard emanating from the chamber belonged to that of Ron Weasley – Harry's bosom friend and compatriot. She knocked on the door and let herself in to the classroom where Ron and Harry had lodged themselves. "I hope I'm not intruding," Mel said softly, "but my heart yearns to comfort you in this, your hour of need."

"Oh Mel," said Harry, "come in, I don't mind you seeing me in such a state." Harry had a handkerchief held up to his face, and from its waterstained condition, it was clear that Harry was in much need of consoling.

"Buck up, Harry," said Ron. "Listen, you know what makes me feel better?"

"What?" he asked through his tears.

"Making out."

"Oh, Ron," Harry bemoaned, "you may have discovered the secret of making out with girls, but I, I have not yet discovered this earthy pleasure! I must console myself with other means less fleshly than yours."

"I made out in this room last week," said Ron cheerfully.

"Oh, Ron," said Mel, "all of this discussion is not considerate of Harry's feelings – your speeches of passionate lipwrangling do nothing to alleviate Harry's foul mood – this is a pleasure known only to yourself, not to Harry! You cannot expect him to be able to come across any Hogwarts hoyden and simply ask her if she desired to kiss in an intimate fashion!"

"I'm only trying to help," said Ron, miffed at Mel.

"I have a feeling that you do this merely to annoy the person you actually love," said Mel. "A girl can tell these things, you know."

"I take offense at this uncalled for comment, madam!" Ron said, jumping up briskly. "You are wrong, I make out because I enjoy the act of kissing, not to make certain bookish women jealous!"

Mel began to cry herself, "Oh, now I have upset you and I have also probably upset Harry as well! I am useless! Useless!"

"Mel," said Harry, crossing the room to comfort her, "do not cry on my behalf! My sorrows are my own; do not worry yourself with my misery! I beg of you, feel better!"

"Oh Harry, the comforter has become the comforted," she said breathlessly.

"So, Mel," said Ron crossly from across the room, "where are you from? I don't think I've really met you before."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "for not properly introducing myself. I'm Melanie Rayne Farmer, oft called Mel by my friends. I am from the faraway land of America."

"America," said Ron with wonder in his voice, "across the Atlantic Ocean?"

"Yes," she said, nodding and brushing a lock of her hair, which in the dim light of the classroom, looked either like a soft brown, or perhaps bright red, "across the Atlantic, I was born in the state of New York, and was born into a witching family there – we hail originally from Salem, which as you know, was a hotbed of witchery and wizardry in early America. Both of my parents are adept magic users, and I attended school in America until this current year, when I was placed into a foreign exchange student program for witches and wizards."

"Wow," said Ron, "America. That's so amazing."

"Yes," she said simply, "I agree. Though, I must say, that Britain has its quaint charms, I do ever so miss being able to be a cheerleader for my school's magic football team."

"Football?" asked Ron, "you'd don't mean Quidditch?"

"Oh Ron," she said, giggling, "I mean _football_. Nobody in America plays Quidditch – it's so frightfully boring, and really, pointless. Think about it, you get one hundred and fifty points for getting the game-ending snoot?"

"Snitch," said Harry gruffly.

"That means that to win the game but not catch the snitch is almost unheard of – excepting that odd incident I vaguely remember from the last year or so in the final game. In America, we play good, old-fashioned magic football – Quidditch is laughed at as being absurd by most."

Harry stood up angrily, "I happen to adore Quidditch – it is one of the few joys left to me in my life since my godfather's untimely demise! To hear it ridiculed by you is unbearable – I cannot tolerate it!"

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "please, do not take offense! I did not mean to hurt your feelings!"

"It is too late for that," he said. "You can go back to loving your game filled with goalies and nets…"

"_American_ football, not that soccer game," she said without thinking. "_Magic_ American football."

"I AM UNDONE BY YOUR SLANDER !" Harry cried, running out of the room, "LEAVE ME TO MY WOE AND TAKE YOUR QUIDDITCH-HATING SENTIMENTS WITH YOU!"

Ron glared at Mel. "I can't believe you," he said angrily. "I used to think you were so cool, but now, now I can't even believe that I used to think that you were cool, because now I couldn't think you were cool even if I tried, which I am and it just isn't happening."

As Ron left the room to follow Harry, Mel fell into a heap on the floor, weeping to herself, bemoaning the fact that she had infuriated Harry and alienated him all because she couldn't see that she was maligning Harry's One True Love. "I have failed in my task to comfort him – he shall forever abjure me! There is no hope left! Ruin!"

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	6. Chapter 6

Mel lay upon her bed, idly picking at a rogue thread that had come loose from her rainbow and unicorn printed comforter. She twisted it around her delicate finger, careful to avoid her perfectly manicured fingernails. She sighed and brought her fingertips to her temples, rubbing them in soothing circles.

"I am troubled, very troubled," said Mel to her room mate, Ginny, who was reclining against pillows and sitting upright, studying a Divination book and jotting down notes on a wrinkled piece of parchment.

"I'm vexed, terribly vexed," lamented Mel aloud, "Vexed beyond the point that I have ever been vexed before and into a new, unknown, new level of vexation."

Ginny sighed, "You said new twice in that pitiful excuse for a sentence."

"Impossible," snapped Mel impatiently, "I See before I speak."

"Oh," said Ginny passively, "Right. Do you want to see into this crystal ball for me? I'm vexed, impossibly vexed, vexed to a whole new level." Mel ignored her.

"My Sight is unclear. I cannot decipher the vague from the clear like before. It is a new sensation, a novel quandary, and I dislike it. I dislike it a lot," Mel said in a breathless, misty voice.

"I'm sorry to hear that," mumbled Ginny, stifling a yawn. She snapped her Divination book shut and rolled up her parchment, "I'm going to dinner."

Mel rolled off of her bed and approached her vanity that her parents had gotten her as a present. It was made of finely polished oak, the best there was ever, and it had a beautiful mirror and some niceish drawers and stuff. Mel picked up her brush and ran it through her silky, shiny, chestnut or blonde or ebony hair. She hummed her favorite song from Gil's band _Kill Me Quickly_ which she couldn't wait to go see as she primped herself for dinner.

A few minutes later, Mel finished primping and blew a strawberry lip gloss flavored kiss to her reflection and turned to make her way out of the dorm and down to dinner. She had just curled her perfectly manicured fingers around the doorknob when she noticed that Ginny had left all of her belongings scattered about her bed.

"Really," said Mel, swooping down upon the bed and gathering up Ginny's things with the intention of putting them in Ginny's trunk, "I can't believe I am cursed with such messy room mates."

Mel dropped the parchment and Divination book into the trunk and was reaching for the crystal ball when she noticed that the fingers of fog inside the crystal globe were swirling rather ominously. She picked up the globe and held it barely a few inches from her face, squinting her eyes in an attempt to see clearly through the fog, tilting her head slightly to get a better angle, willing and pleading for the mist to take shape. The fog twisted, curled, swirled into shape. Mel's chocolate, emerald, or maybe aquamarine eyes widened as she gasped audibly. It was unmistakable. She was certain that it was…

----------------------------

"Meatloaf," groaned Ron, "Are the house elves honestly this lazy? Honestly? This is the second time this week!"

"Just eat it, Ron," said Hermione, eyeing her dish wearily, "It's good for you."

"I have my doubts," said Ron, prodding the meatloaf with his fork. Hermione glanced at Harry, who was staring at his meatloaf with tears lining his bright green eyes.

"My appetite," wept Harry, "evades me. I no longer desire to fill myself with nourishment when I remain so very, very empty."

Ginny joined the table and watched as meatloaf rose up from her plate. She sighed and pushed her plate away, reaching instead for a roll.

"All in all," said Ginny as she buttered her roll liberally, "I'd rather have a pizza."

"Even I could not enjoy a pizza," bemoaned Harry, who raised a hand dramatically to his forehead as he spoke, "It does not fill-"

"The emptiness inside of me," finished Ginny, "Yeah, we know."

"Ginny," said Harry, placing his hand upon hers, "If only you knew the pain and suffering that I have been pained with suffering and stuff! I do not know when, where, or how Sirius will return. What if I must wait years, days, minutes!"

Hermione had had enough. She slammed her silverware onto the table and began to get up, "Harry, you are being irrational and just plain stupid as hell. Sirius can not come back even if you had an actual Seer and a FULL ghost. Nobody has ever come back. Ever."

Harry buried his face in his hands and bawled girlishly. Ron cleared his throat.

"So," he began in a gruff, very manly and not girlish voice, "Are we going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Oh yes!" gushed Hermione, "I've already bought us all seats for the Kill Me Quickly show!"

"That Gil," said Ginny who nearly swooned, "He is so very manly with his silver hair, his luminous eyes, his tenor vocals!"

"I am manly!" cried Harry, whose voice cracked and squeaked like a prepubescent boy. Someone from the Hufflepuff table pointed and laughed.

But the laughter was short lived because at that moment, that pretty much exact same moment, Mel and Lavender Brown burst into the Great Hall. She was out of breath, having just run down pretty much all the stairs and stuff.

"NOBODY PANIC, BUT-"

"OMG I'M PANICKING!" shrieked Dumbledore, who pulled at his whiskers in utter despair. The whole student body erupted into a clamor as students stumbled over themselves in order to exit the hall.

"THE GRIM IS IN THE HALLWAY!" cried Lavender who promptly fainted soon after revealing this shocking and totally cliff-hanging revelation.

-----------------

Authors' Comments:

Gillikin: Wow! Thrilling! Lyssoh blew me away!

Meg (Beta!): U guys are the best! I love this fic!


	7. Chapter 7

Dumbledore dove behind his chair and shrieked, "PEZ!" and the chair descended beneath the head table, whisking him away from the turmoil of the hall. Teachers and students alike wailed in distress – the Grim was in the hallway. Professor Trelawney came out of her bottle of cooking sherry (it tasted vaguely of the meatloaf today) long enough to cackle and shriek, "If you see the Grim, you shall die!" She then splashed back into its murky depths.

"Lavender, are you all right?" asked a concerned Ron. He knelt beside her and tried to take her pulse – sadly he had never done that before and wasn't very good at it. A few moments later, she awoke and, looking at Ron queerly, asked, "Ron, what are you doing with my ankle?"

"I'm checking to see if you're dead or not!" Ron shouted, getting caught up in the emotion of the thing.

"You're just checking to see if I'm alive so you can snog with me! With CPR!" she cried, taking her shoe from the confused Ron's hands and running off into the teeming mass.

"But wouldn't you want me to be the one to give you CPR?" he shouted.

From the panicked throng, Pansy Parkinson winked and nodded in Ron's direction. Ron commenced dry heaving.

Mel stood up upon a chair, and shouted into the crowd, "Listen to me! I have something important to say!"

All eyes turned to her, for the briefest moment, the Great Hall was entirely silent. "Neither Lavender nor myself have seen the Grim in person – it has instead been scryed through crystal ball, tea leaves, the entrails of pigeons, and etcetera.

"Oh come on!" said Ron angrily (he hadn't gotten his free, and very public snog; also: meatloaf). "Trelawney was seeing Grims in everything for Harry like a thousand times a couple years ago. You got us upset because you muddled some tea leaves around until it looked like a Chihuahua?"

"I assure you, Ronald," said Mel, the steel in her voice matching the steel in her blue eyes and platinum hair, "my predictions are always correct, unlike certain drunkards who shall remain nameless."

Hagrid looked up at her vaguely, trying to figure out if she were making fun of him.

"Yes, let's all believe Mel!" cried the crowd with one accord.

"I suppose that I cannot go against the will of the people," said Ron, conformistly.

"Now, who shall go out and deal with this Spectre of Terror and Harbringer of Doom?" Mel beseeched, her honey'd voice begging for help and aid, which none could hope to resist against, as much as they couldn't resist desiring her long, blond locks of hair, or her warm brown eyes.

"I shall go," said Harry glumly. "I have naught left in this life to entice me to remain. Without my godfather, I am as nothing! I shall myself go, and hopefully I shall vanquish this grim Grim, and in doing so, give up my life to protect those whom I once considered my friends in this dismal and dark world! Oh Fate! I go to meet with thee!" Harry started to move forward, but as he did, he tripped on a piece of meatloaf and his ankle twisted! No longer could his powers of remaining aloft and upright combat the powers of gravity! Down, down he fell and with it, a horrible sound – the sound of breaking bone and tearing sinew!

"Oh!" cried Harry. "My ankle! I am unable to walk! The pain! Perambulation is beyond me! Oh, if only I could continue resolute and strong but I cannot! I cannot!" He fell into a heap upon the floor and wept soft cathartic tears.

Mel knelt down, and with a wave of her wand, she was wearing a nurse's hat which complimented her violet eyes and ebony locks. "Oh, Harry! You are hurt! You cannot continue in this endeavor to combat The Grim! I shall nurse you back to health with my restorative broths and soothing ministrations – I shall be as the goat which fed the babe Zeus, whose horn the cornucopia was, and you shall suckle from my milk of regeneration!"

"I am a failure!" Harry wept. "I am unable to bring back my godfather, and I am unable even to combat a terrifying ghostly dog!"

"Did someone mention ghost?" said Gil, as his silver-topped head bobbed up from the crowd; several girls gasped and more than one fainted as he passed them by. "I believe that, where you failed in this, I shall succeed," he said to Harry. "You see, I am half-ghost, and therefore, the Grim shall receive me as a brother – I shall not die by gazing upon his face!"

"Oh Gil," said Ginny, breathlessly. "You're so brave. And half-ghost."

"Yes," said Gil nonchalantly, "I am both of those things."

"I am the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher," said Snape angrily. "I should be the one to deal with this minor menace."

"But, sir, are you endowed, such as I am, with all of the abilities of a half ghost? Do you normally wear spikes on your wrists such as I, perfect as both fashion statement and as weapon, if needs arise? I think not! This is a matter beyond your hands; it rests solely in mine to deal with it."

"You are, as always, correct," said Snape, backing off, because Snape knew that he couldn't hope to compete with Gil in this area, not being a half-ghost himself.

Gil whipped out his wand, a black ebony number made from the heartstrings of a dragon, pointy, very good for poking things and hexing, and as its dark shaft arced through the air in a complex series of symbols known and unknown to those watching – he said "_Accio bass_!" in his soulful, tenor voice.

Usually a summoning spell of this level would cause whatever object was desired to fly through the air to the summoner, but such was Gil's half ghost side that the instrument was called through the very æther itself, appearing in a brilliant flash of dark violet light. Gil's bass, an instrument made for one purpose – that purpose being to rawk out the very hearts of men and inspire desire in the hearts of women when coupled with the songs of sorrow that Gil sang. The bass had another purpose, and that was to battle the specters of the dead who threatened the living – because the dead never bought albums, so saving the lives of the living was in Gil's best interest.

"Darke Thorne – Bass of the Underworld!" cried Gil, holding it aloft.

The throng of girls surrounding Gil began to weep soft tears of joy.

Professor McGonagall swooned.

Gil started off for the doors, a hushed silence pervading over all, as the crowd watched this brave, attractive, mournful half-ghost go to save all of their lives with his bass playing.

Just as he reached the doors, however, Neville Longbottom rushed into the room, and shouted, "I have misplaced Trevor again! Also!" He held aloft a mangled black ribbon, which could only have belonged to Doloris Umbridge – not even Pansy Parkinson had such poor taste. "The Grim has just eaten Doloris Umbridge!"

The reaction was mixed as both cheers of "Good job the Grim!" and shrieks of "it EATS PEOPLE?" filled the hall.

Gil cranked his amp up to eleven.

------------------


	8. Chapter 8

Gil exited the Great Hall and the door swung closed behind him with a loud, hollow thud. All eyes watched his beautiful, half-ghost figure go out to fight, to vanquish, and to save the day. An eerie silence fell upon the clamorous group of students in the Great Hall, but it was broken quickly by Hermione.

"He's doomed! His amp only goes to eleven!" cried Hermione. Gil's groupies fell upon their sharpest utensil at the thought of never hearing his smooth, tenor voice ever again. Chaos returned and soon students were slipping on spilled food, diving under tables, and lamenting their inevitable doom.

"He cannot die! He is half-ghost!" countered Harry, whose ankle was being magically bound by Mel.

"But can he half-die?" asked Ron seriously, running his hand through his thick red hair.

"I don't See him dying, either half or whole," said Mel, patting Harry's leg reassuringly. Harry flashed a smile at her, the first he'd flashed in a long while. At least since the last time he was happy, which was never.

Professor McGonagall rushed past them, pushing Colin Creevey into a table as she bustled past. Ginny grabbed her arm and swung her around.

"Isn't there something you can do for us? For Gil?" she pleaded, her voice cracking as she choked on her tears.

"No," said McGonagall irritably, "Dumbledore's escape has locked the teacher exits and we've tried to open them, but we can't guess the password because of his bizarre fetish for sugary candy."

Professor McGonagall pushed through the throng of hysterical students and away from Ginny, who burst into wave after wave of tears.

Ron and Mel helped Harry onto the bench. Harry reclined with his back against the table and sighed. For the first time, he was not the one rushing off to save the day. The battle today was against an apparition from his past! The Grim that he had seen in his third year had actually been his own godfather all along. And now, with the Grim loose in the castle, Harry sat powerless to stop it. A part of him, the heroic part of his cold, black, withered angst-ridden soul died. Mel sat beside Harry, her heart breaking as she gazed upon Harry who looked so pathetic and crestfallen that Mel's eyes began to swim in tears.

"Harry, don't be discouraged. With all that goes around here, I'm sure you'll save the day again," said Mel in the most soothing voice that she could muster, "I mean, you've pretty much saved the day for a few years now, right?"

"Do not try and comfort me, sweet Mel, for I am a lost cause. A failure neither worth your time nor your effort. If only Voldemort's killing curse had struck me dead, then surely this world would be better off and-"

Mel covered her ears, "Harry, don't say such things. Your angst is far too depressing. I demand that you stop this at once!"

Harry stared at his shoes and sighed. Ron burst onto the scene looking absolutely panic-striken.

"GIL HAS BEEN GONE A LONG TIME. SOMETHING MUST HAVE HAPPENED," Ron hollered, clearly unable to control the volume of his voice.

"It's only been three minutes, Ron!" snapped Ginny.

----------------------

Gil stood in the hallway and tossed his silver bangs from his eyes, which were glowing in the dark so he could see better in the dark. Gil's fingers nervously drummed on Darke Thorne. No, he must face this with courage. After all, he was half-ghost and had nothing to fear.

"I will seek out The Grim and rock him so hard that he goes back to where he came from!" said Gil to himself, striking a bold chord on his bass in emphasis.

"YES!" cried an enthusiastic suit of armor in a booming voice as Gil walked past. The suit of armor gave Gil a thumbs up.

"I should begin at the closet where The Grim was resurrected. Perhaps there are some clues there," said Gil as he chose a particularly winding corridor and made his way to the closet. As he began getting closer, he could sense in the very depths of his half-ghost soul that the Grim was close. Very close. Too close. Gil tightened his grip on Darke Thorne, ready to rock at a moment's notice.

Then, Gil heard it; the scraping of large claws on the cold, stone castle floor, frantic snuffling noises, the quiet padding of large paws. The Grim! It was in the Potions classroom. Gil gripped the doorknob with his perfectly manicured fingers and flung open the door.

The classroom was dimly lit and the shelves of potions looked eerie in the dark. Some potions glowed, bubbled, or fizzed. Gil's eyes glowed as they adjusted to the shady room. The angry snuffing of the large Grim continued and a desk in the back of the classroom budged as a large, shadowy form bumped into it. Gil readied Darke Thorne and jumped into the aisle where The Grim was.

The silver streaks in the Grim's fur glittered in the dim light of the classroom; the rest of its black fur was matted and knotted. It's kinked tail swished back and forth slowly, ominously. The black beast with eyes that glowed like reflectors was emaciated; its ribs could be counted. Nevertheless, it looked powerful and intimidating before Gil, its pearly white fangs bared in a sharp grin and its pointed ears pressing flat back against its head.

"Grim," said Gil to the large dog before him, "Er, maybe, Sirius? Well, either way. I'm half-Ghost, so you have no reason to-"

But the Grim (er, maybe Sirius?) charged at Gil, its large paws slipping on the stone floor for a moment before gaining traction. Gil leapt aside, wheeling towards the Grim and strumming the strings of Darke Thorne in an angry riff that rocked the Grim so hard that it backpedaled, skidding into a desk. A cauldron fell to the floor with a loud, hollow bang. Vials with potions fell to the floor with a sound like a symphony of chimes. The Grim shook and regained its confidence. It charged again. Gil was shocked—had Darke Thorne only managed to stun the Grim? If that?

Gil barely had time to react before the Grim was upon him, two heavy paws on his shoulders that pushed him savagely against a desk and onto the floor. Gil grit his perfectly white and shiny teeth and forced Darke Throne betwixt him and the Grim, pressing his bass guitar up against the beast in an effort to throw the Grim off. Gil tried to maneuver away from the Grim's snapping jaws, managing to roll the Grim off him with a quick thrust. The Grim tumbled into the side of a rather large and very burnt cauldron and whimpered. It snarled at Gil before turning and dashing through the wall and into the classroom next door.

Gil got to his feet and, without bothering to steady himself, dashed out of the Potions classroom in search of the Grim in the next room.


	9. Chapter 9

"I didn't think that I'd have to use this so soon," said Gil, brandishing his guitar in a manner that would have left a lesser half-man on his knees – Gil had both feet firmly planted upon the ground (or as firm as a half-ghost could expect to be planted upon the ground). "A secret, passed down through the ages! It rests solely in my hands, and now I call upon it! Tremble in abject fear, for your hope of success is nil!"

Suddenly, just before Gil's hand was about to strum a chord which would have undone the very fabric of the world, we'll say cotton, and refashioned it into some other sort of fabric, maybe tulle, there was an unearthly wail, and from out of the ground arose the spirit of Dolores Umbridge!

"Oh, Hem Hem!" she cried. "Hem! HEEEEEEM!" She flailed her ghostly hands about, pawing at the air in the general direction of Gil. "HEM!"

"Uh," said Gil, pausing and not completing the Riff From Beyond, "yeah?"

"I was eaten by THE GRIM, HEM!" she wailed.

"How could that skinny dog – I can see his ribs – manage to eat all of you? You're totally fat, if he ate you his stomach would explode or something."

"He ate me, hem!" she cried once more.

"Listen, I'm half-ghost, but even I can't stand you," said Gil. "Nobody likes you, I mean, even Moaning Myrtle does backup on some of my songs sometimes and I'll admit, she's hard to like, but you, nobody would ever use you as backup; you couldn't even make some remix done for a rave filled with bouncy teens hopped up on E."

"Hem?" said the ghost of Dolores Umbridge.

Gil raised his hands, "Thro' the world of spirits and spectyres, I send you to your final resting place, the undoing of the chains which bind you to this mortal sphere I now claim!" He meant business, and was about to banish her forever from the mortal world – being a half-ghost, he was fully qualified to do such things. A pale and dim light, both blue and red pulsed in the air surrounding Gil. The Grim, being a creature of flesh, felt nothing, but the strain upon Gil was apparent, his half-ghost side feeling the spell which he was calling. The effect on Dolores Umbridge was, however, that much more apparent, as she appeared, in effect, to be in even more pain that the amount of pain that Gil appeared to be experiencing from the affects of his spell.

---------------

Back in the Great Hall, Neville was still holding on to the hair ribbon which belonged to Dolores Umbridge – when suddenly it burst into flame. "Ow!" he cried, dropping it to the floor.

Mel's pain sensor went off. She could feel the physical pain being felt by Neville. "Oh!" she cried, "if only I were not also an Empath, in addition to being a Seer!" She swooned in Harry's arms.

"Mel!" he cried. "Mel, revive yourself! What has gone wrong! Mel, return to the world of the awake and the living! Is there no hope left to me? Is there nothing left in this unfair world in which I might find joy? The smile which was upon my face is now gone, gone!"

"Harry," said Ginny, coming up to him, "I thought that you, well, you know…" she said, looking as if she were going to burst into tears.

"The terrible monster that once lived in my breast which raged and tore at my heartstrings whenever I saw you in the arms of another is gone – it has been slain by a hand other than my own. I am sorry, Ginny, but I cannot at this time return your affections – my sorrows have replaced the joy I once felt."

Ginny burst into tears.

Professor Trelawny vomited into an urn.

When suddenly there was a terrible sound that hurt everyone's ears!

"Oh!" cried Nearly Headless Nick. "This is the unearthly wail of a spirit who is being forcibly forced back through the veil betwixt the living and the dead! The curtain which separates the worlds is being forced open for a moment to thrust some specter through against their will! Who could do this, this one act that I myself cannot bring myself to do? Who here in this school is capable of such an act? Oh, if my head were not connected to my neck by the slimmest of connective tissues, I would surely lose it! I flee!" With that, he floated downwards through the floor until nothing could be seen of him.

"No one is outside of this room, except Dumbledore and Gil!" said Ron. "It must be one of them! There is no possible egress from this chamber!"

"Wait, I came into the room, remember?" said Neville. "And Gil managed to just walk out of the doors."

"I said egress! You were ingress, and Gil is a half-ghost!" Ron said, punching Neville in the stomach.

"My innards!" cried Neville. "Why have you punched me in such a place?"

"Herd mentality! Everyone is freaking out! We're fast becoming an unruly mob! I'm a prefect!"

Mel suddenly shot up, out of Harry's arms, and shrieked, "Deasil! Deasil! Why was it not deasil!"

Harry looked deep into her aquamarine eyes, his emerald eyes reflecting back into her own, and making her eyes really more of a sapphire color, or perhaps jade. "Mel! Mel, what's wrong?"

Mel's fawn locks shone in the candlelight of the Great Hall, with their auburn and raven highlights even more accented than usual. "Again! The portents and signs come before me! All is clear! I have Seen! I understand the situation wholly!"

----------------

Gil had successfully banished the foul spirit of Dolores Umbridge to the world beyond – a banishment was much quicker than a summoning, but took more out of a person, even if they were half-ghost. The Grim still lived (as much as a Grim could live), and Gil was now too weary to be able to complete The Perfect Chord. His hands moved down his bass, and played a quick succession of notes – he only hoped that such a slapstick job as he was doing would work.

The progression of chords struck filled the air with an unearthly bassline that called across worlds, and summoned the spirits of Gil's groupies who, for his sake, had killed themselves in sorrow – he hated to call upon them now, but it was his only hope. His only question was – would it be enough?

---------------

"Pixie Stix!" cried Dumbledore, as he flew through his office, searching, searching. He thought that he remembered inventing Grim-B-Gone, but if he had, where was it, and if he hadn't, then why had he been doodling label designs and advertisement slogans on his napkins for like two months a couple of years ago? Would he find it in time? Did it even exist? Would he ever find all of those missing socks of his? He only prayed that he might.


	10. Chapter 10

Rising from the ground full-ghost specter splendor, Gil's groupies immediately fell and embraced his knees as best as they could because they were full ghost.

"Gil, we love you!" they wept, great pearly tears of sorrow as they fawned over him, their ghostly fingers clutching him as best they could, seeing as they were fully ghost and couldn't really touch him at all but they at least made an effort which was nice.

"Groupies," he addressed them in his velvety voice that made a few of the ghost groupies faint, "I have summoned you because I need your help. With your power-"

"The power of love!" cried a ghost groupie who Gil immediately ignored.

"We can send the Grim back to the land of the dead if we combine powers, your full ghost powers and my half-ghost powers combined can save us if we combine them!" said Gil, who drummed his fingers on Darke Thorne.

"If we help you, will you marry us?" asked a doe-eyed groupie whose pouting lips quivered. Her eyes filled with tears at the very thought of addressing Gil.

"No," answered Gil, "but I will thank you with a card and basket of fruits or various meats and cheeses."

"Gil!" cried a ghost groupie who flailed her arms wildly, "So thoughtful! A real gentleman! And half-ghost! We will help you defeat the Grim so we can attend your concert at Hogsmeade in hopes that you will play our favorite songs and maybe propose your hand in marriage to us!"

The ghost groupies erupted in applause, many weeping openly at the thought of helping Gil with many others announcing their undying and unconditional love for him. Gil brandished Darke Thorne, which was vibrating palpably as it recharged. Gil, still spent from banishing Umbridge and summoning the groupies and battling the Grim and practicing with his band _Kill Me Quickly _and looking so gorgeous.

"But Gil," interrupted a ghost groupie, "You are so very weak. You should rest and let us nurse you back to health. You are in need of coddling!"

"He is overdue for a good coddling!" shrieked a groupie, who was fully prepared to coddle Gil who was, indeed, overdue for a good coddling.

"Nonsense!" said Gil, who was still weak and in need of a good coddling but whose strength was returning, "I am half-ghost and therefore, I am only half-tired."

"That makes sense!" said a groupie.

"Like John Paul Jones," said Gil, brandishing Darke Thorne high above his head, "I have not yet begun to fight!"

"Who is John Paul Jones?" asked a groupie.

"He has three names! He must be important!" said an unimportant groupie with only two names.

"Groupies, groupies! We must focus on the crisis that has fallen upon our half-ghost and full-ghost shoulders. Groupies, we must join forces!" said Gil with the authority of a sexy general who rallies his sexy troops.

The groupies all put their Gil Fanclub Secret Decoder Rings on their ghostly fingers and formed a circle. They thrust their hands with the rings on in the center and a bright pink orb or bright light whatever began to glow and it got bigger and bigger and stuff.

"Ghost groupie power activate!" they cried.

"Yeah!" shrieked another one, for good measure.

----------------------------

Back in the Great Hall, Luna Lovegood was laying on the bench, staring at the ceiling of the Great Hall as it reflected a beautiful, sunny sky which was totally unlike the atmosphere which was definitely bad.

Hagrid approached Luna. Luna wrinkled her nose. Hagrid smelled. Bad. Like, a hairy half-giant who drank a whole lot of alcoholic beverages (which are bad).

"Hullo," said Hagrid, breathing his horrid breath on Luna who nearly expired of asphyxiation.

"Hagrid," said Luna, her voice dripping with whimsy and stuff, "These are dangerous times. In addition to having a Grim loose, the constant threat of Voldemort, and everything, I have just learned from my copy of The Quibbler that the Earth is hurtling into the sun."

Hagrid screamed in a high-pitched, girly voice. Luna nodded sadly.

"I must go and eat all the ice cream before it melts!" cried Hagrid as he dashed off, crushing several students underfoot.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, somewhere else in the hall, Harry was still moping and frankly, everyone was tired of his incessant whining which had been going on pretty much since book 1.

"Harry," said Hermione, "You have been annoying, irritating, irksome, and more synonyms than ever since _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_."

"We tire of your antics, etc," said Ron, wrinkling his freckled nose in disgust.

Ginny grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and shook him violently, nearly breaking his neck which was so wimpy, "Pull yourself together! You are Harry Potter! The boy whose good luck and knack of getting yourself out of undesirable situations has made you famous despite the fact that nearly all of your achievements can be attributed to others."

"Ginny!" said Harry as he was still being shaken, "I-believe-you-have-shaken-some-Sense-into-my-head!"

Ginny stopped shaking Harry, surprised at his confession? COULD IT BE?

"Yes!" said Ron, in answer to the question posed by the author.

"Sense-has-indeed-been-shaken-into-my-head. I-can-see-clearly-now-that-moping-will-do-no-good!" cried Harry, his eyes lighting up at his own revelation.

"You can stop talking like that!" said Hermione.

"Oh, right," replied Harry, "Well, anyway, the Sense that had long ago left my mind has now taken up residence in my mind once again."

"He's so eloquent," breathed Mel, clearly enchanted by the new and motivated Harry.

"I will no longer be hindered by my career-ending injury," announced Harry.

"What?" asked Ron, his hideous orange eyebrows rising in confusion, "I am so confused. My eyebrows rise of their own accord in confusion and befuddlement."

Harry leapt to his feet, a very dramatic and invigorating leap which only ended with a very dramatic and invigorating crash to the floor.

"Harry, Sense does not fix your injury," said Hermione matter-of-factly-and-stuff, "Perhaps you had better leave the dramatic leaping to someone who is more able-bodied."

"Like Gil because he is out there, fighting off a Grim when you are here, lame like a horse except you will not soon be turned into paste for kindergarteners to eat," said Mel.

"Paste is not just for kindergarteners!" cried Ron angrily.

"Woe, I burn," cried Harry, "burn with the desire to help and only further aggravate the situation."

"Penicillin can clear that up," said Mel.

"lol" said Hermione.

Harry leaned on Mel like a human crutch, which she willingly obliged to being the loving soul that she was. He waved his balled fist angrily.

"I shake my fist in anger," said Harry as he did so, "and I make this vow to do all that I can to help the able-bodied and half-ghost Gil who can defeat the Grim. Like John Paul Jones, my hero and yours, I must stay the course and fight the good fight."

"Harry," pleaded Mel, "You are not in any condition to fight. Your body may obtain horrid battle scars that mar your pale, kind of clammy flesh."

"My flesh already harbors a scar, a scar of the worst kind, one that kind of hurts and kind of hurts often," said Harry quietly. Mel's eyes filled with tears at the eloquent and well-said kind of statement.

Harry pointed to the doors of the Great Hall, "That way, Mel. Let us limp toward the ultimate showdown. The showdown to end all showdowns. Brother pitted against brother. Father against son. Dogs vs. cats. And so on and so forth."

The pair limped off towards their destiny which awaited beyond the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Deep in the bowels of Hogwarts, a creature stirred from its slumber, awakened from its sleep by the influx of magical energies produced by summoning and unsummoning of ghostly apparitions. It was drawn by the leaking enchantments and the resonance in the æther ever closer to the battlefield – but what was its purpose, and why was it drew ever onwards?

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A brilliant explosion rocked the classroom where Gil was battling the Grim; his groupies had used their powers to merge into one giant groupie, who's powers were far beyond that of any normal groupie. Looming twelve feet tall (thankfully Hogwarts was built on a grandiose scale!) the spirit spoke, "We, like, chasten you and, like, cast you out of, like, the mortal realm!"

The air filled with the motions of unseen spirits, arcane symbols glowed in the air, and the sounds of murmuring from the world beyond permeated the room. Suddenly, the Grim, who had basically done nothing for most of the exchange between Gil and his Groupies suddenly looked up, suddenly, and spoke, all of a sudden!

"Heed my words!" the Grim said, "I have been once undone, if you succeed in undoing me here, know this! You have called! I have been reborn! I shall not remain undone, and my redoing shall be your undoing! You have tampered with that which should not be tampered with! Expect my return when you least expect it!"

"Wait!" cried Gil, tossing back his silvery locks, "are you Sirius?"

The creature looked as if it were going to respond, but suddenly the ghostly form of Gil's mega-groupie threw herself upon the Grim. "You will not, like, bother Gil anymore!"

The two struggled, the weight of spirits rested heavily for one moment, until the Grim, a being made of shadow, became yet more dark and shadowy, until eventually it melted away wholly, leaving nothing but the panting giant groupie, and Gil, who was mostly recovered from the struggle, but who now had a giant, undead groupie to deal with.

"Gil, now that we have, like, saved your half-life, you should wed us in consideration of our great deed that we, like, did for you!" said the giant groupie. Mega Groupie started towards Gil, holding out her large, spiritual arms, ready to embrace him, and clasp him to her ethereal bosom.

"Groupies, no! My life is one not meant for the bonds of conjugal affection! If I were to marry, my life as a punk rawk star would be over – the parties, the drugs, the butterbeer! All gone! A wife would not allow such things!"

"Oh Gil! We do not wish to, like, hurt you and things!" cried Mega Groupie. "We would, like, let you still party and become drunken on, like, butterbeer!"

"The imminent divorce which would ensue from such a marriage would provide me with inspiration for musical lyrics, yes, but it would be better suited for the Country and Western musical audience than anything else."

"Country and Western!" shrieked Mega Groupie. "Say it isn't, like, so!"

"Yes, groupies! If I were to wed you and subsequently divorce you, even if the laws of Great Britain allowed for a ghost to wed a half-ghost, which I doubt that they do, my music would devolve into Country and Western music! I cannot tolerate this!" Gil said resolutely.

"Like, neither can we!" sobbed Mega Groupie. "We, like, renounce our martial plans upon you and stuff." The giant ghostly apparition shrank and divided into several crying groupies. "Goodbye, Gil!" they cried in unison, and began to fade away, back into the ethereal.

Suddenly, the door behind Gil swung open, and the aforementioned creature from the opening of the chapter stood in shadow! It gazed upon the scene, and viewing the now-melting ghosts, cried shrilly, "I shall save you, sir!"

The creature waved his hands and wiggled his fingers, all of the desks in the room rose up and flew towards the circle of groupies – who being ghosts and already departing from this plane, provided absolutely no resistance – the desks slammed into Gil!

"Ow, my most of me!" cried Gil, as the desks slammed into his very thin and frail body, his waiflike frame betraying him – if only he were Hagrid! Hagrid's body, through years of alcohol abuse, being beaten daily the year prior by his full-giant brother, and in taking care of giant, abnormal, ravenous creatures for decades, was basically immune to physical damage. Gil's body was especially frail, due to his lifestyle of not eating or doing physical activity because of depression, a general sense of ennui, and his being a half ghost – the perfect choice for crushing underneath a giant pile of schooldesks.

"Oh no, sir! You are now hurt! I have hurt you, sir! Instead of helping you!" the mysterious and totally not predictable creature wailed. The doorway was filled with its shadow, but as it took a few steps to the side to better ram its head into the doorframe, a good dozen hats or so fell off of its head, revealing that it was, in actuality, a house elf! "Dobby has hurt you! Bad Dobby, bad!" he screamed as he inflicted irreparable damage to his cranium.

"Listen, whoever you are, just take these desks off of me!" said Gil, his voice muffled by a desk leg that had found its way partially into his mouth.

"Oh, sir! Dobby will fix it, Dobby will!"

The house elf again raised his hands and wiggled his fingers in the air, the desks whizzed through the air, back to their proper places – potions would never be the same, as more than half of the desks were broken, and at least one was only a pile of splinters.

What was most broken, aside from most of the bones in Gil's left side, though, was the dark, withered excuse for a heart that Gil had – for his prized possession, Darke Thorne, was broken into two – no more would his riffs inspire desire in women and envy in men, nor would they banish the undead from the world of the living, nor summon spirits into the world of the living!

"Ruin!" cried Gil. "Despair!"

"Oh, sir! Dobby has hurt you, sir! Dobby is a terrible house elf!" Dobby ran up and tried to grab the strings from Darke Thorne to strangle himself with, but as he touched them, he shrieked, "Oh, it pains Dobby to touch it! I cannot use this to hurt myself, it hurts too much to use it!"

"That sentence made no sense," said Gil.

"Sir, you are expecting a house elf to make sense?" cried Dobby, tears falling from his giant, freakish eyes.

"Oh. Right," Gil said, trying to stand up, but the massive injuries preventing him from doing so. "I'm afraid to ask you to help me stand up…" he started.

"DOBBY WILL HELP YOU SIR!" he shrieked, again wiggling his fingers in the air. Gil was magically lifted into the air, and dropped onto the floor, causing all of his broken bones to shift around, and hurt even more.

"Help! I am being murdered by an overzealous house elf!" cried out Gil, as he fell to the ground once again.

Suddenly, from behind Dobby, came a resounding voice, a voice which Dobby well knew, the voice of Harry Potter. "Dobby, cease this, your struggle to aid Gil! Return to whatever task you were assigned previously, and I, Harry Potter, shall see to it that Gil is taken care of!"

"Oh, Harry Potter, sir! You're so wonderful in every possible way that Dobby could never be wonderful in!" Dobby continued sobbing to himself as he left the room.

"Once again, I have saved the day, thanks mostly to other people doing most of the work, and me coming in at just the right time to fix the one thing that I, a young devil-may-care wizard _could_ fix!" Harry beamed.

"Oh Gil!" cried Mel, "you are hurt! You are wounded in various places and perhaps maimed for life! This is horrible, I cannot believe that the Grim did this to you."

"It was not the Grim," he said sternly, "but instead a house elf."

"Oh, how embarrassing," said Mel, tears in her eyes. "I shall never speak of it again. In America," she said aside to Harry, "we do not have house elves, we have indentured servant elves. Come, let me heal your bruised and broken body. If I work night and day, and perhaps ask for the assistance of Madam Pomfrey, I can heal you just in time for your concert in Hogsmead."

"Harry Potter, my body is broken and bruised, but worse than this, my bass is broken. Normally, one who is fully living cannot touch my bass without experiencing vast amounts of pain, but you, you who have come under the killing curse and yet live, perhaps you might be able to hold it and not be pained." Gil said in sorrow, his concern for his bass superseding his concern for his mortal shell. "It must be repaired before my big show."

Harry Potter looked down at Darke Thorne, its gleaming strings, its blood red paint, its dark ebon metals – it sang to him, even in its broken state. He bent down to pick it up, but would he be able to pick it up? How did one fix an Underworld Bass? Was there some sort of Underworld Guitar Store one could go to? The only thing he knew was that he was about to find out.

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"Aha!" cried Dumbledore. "As it turns out, I did _not_ invent Grim-B-Gone. However, my Headmaster senses inform me that the specter is gone; I'll let everybody out of the Great Hall now."

Dumbledore reached over and pushed a button on his desk; floors away, the unopened doors of the Great Hall that had not been charmed open by Mel's especially potent door-opening charm opened and students who had not already left via the previously mentioned charmed-open door left via the non-charmed-open doors that had just opened.

"My work here," concluded the half-moon bespectacled wizard, leaning back in his chair, and shoving a half dozen lemon sherbets into his mouth, "is done."

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	12. Chapter 12

"The suspense is killing me faster than my wounds that are probably not mortal," breathed Gil before pathetically coughing into his delicate hand, delicately painted with black nail polish that was also probably as delicate.

Mel patted Gil's delicate hand delicately, "Don't speak, I See the straining of your vocal cords if you speak too much, Gil!"

Gil bravely tossed his silvery bangs out of his piercing orbs that shimmered like the moon's reflection on the ocean at night and whispered, "I'll be alright."

Mel stifled a sob. What a trooper! Suddenly, Harry interrupted.

"The suspense at hand does not concern Gil's vocal cords, however smooth and velvety they might be, but rather whether or not I can pick up the bass!" cried Harry as he brandished Darke Thorne, having just picked up the broken bass.

"But you just picked it up, Harry!" said Mel.

"How anti-climactic!" cried Gil, "Even as a half-ghost, I am wholly disappointed."

Gil magicked a stretcher out of thin air using wandless magic and Mel helped him climb upon it. She stroked his hand tenderly, the tears welling in her eyes threatened to spill over and roll down her flawless, acne-free cheeks. Her full lips quivered.

"Gil," she began, but her voice failed her. She began to weep big, pearly, perfect tears. Mel buried her face in her hands and bawled.

Gil sighed and reached a bruised hand up to Mel's cheek to brush away her tears.

With his voice no louder than a whisper, he said, "Don't worry, Mel, I'll still be able to play at Hogsmead in time for my concert. Besides, I can't die. Well, not all the way because I am a half-ghost."

"Hello! I am still here holding Darke Thorne!" cried Harry, whom everyone had forgotten.

Mel's perfectly glossed lips curled into a small smile. She nodded. What a trooper Gil was! Being able to defeat the Grim, survive an attack by a deranged house elf, and then to have the courage to uphold his commitment to the band.

"Nobody loves me!" shrieked Harry.

"I'll take you to Madame Pomfrey," said Mel.

"Thank-you, Mel," sighed Gil, his eyes fluttered once before shutting, "You are a true friend."

"I See a nice, comfy bed in your future!" Mel said lamely.

"As a half-ghost with a half-sense of humor, I find no humor in that at all. Seriously, why did you even say that?" whispered Gil, his voice feeble and barely audible.

Mel pushed Gil on his magical stretcher out of the room and they made their way up the staircases to the infirmary wing.

"I'm still here!" cried Harry from the lonely room. Darke Thorne vibrated in Harry's hands, almost sympathetically.

"How do I fix you, Darke Thorne?" said Harry, hurt that Gil and Mel had practically strolled out of the room, ignoring him as though he were a full-ghost!

Darke Thorne said nothing. It just lay, broken, in Harry's hands. Its paint was a little chipped, a few strings were snapped and the entire body of the bass looked a little warped. Darke Thorne looked sad, pathetic, and other synonyms. Harry shed a tear, his heart breaking within him at the very sight of it. He danced his fingers across the bass's glossy body.

"How can I restore you to your former glory? You have not played your last solo, my friend!" said Harry to Darke Thorne as he wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

Suddenly, it came to him. Why hadn't he thought of it before? This entire time, he had been mourning Darke Thorne.

Harry fished in his robes for his wand. Finding it, he whipped it out with a flourish. He tapped Darke Thorne.

"Reparo!" he cried, his voice stern and steady. Commanding. Harry was a very commanding person when he felt like it and he felt like it right now.

Darke Thorne was bathed in a ghostly green light as it snapped back together. The strings re-attached themselves tightly as if they were being pulled taut by invisible hands. Darke Thorne's glossy body returned to its smooth, graceful state.

"I don't know why I didn't think of that before," said Harry, scratching his head with the tip of his wand. He picked up Darke Thorne and threw the guitar strap over his shoulder.

"I should return you to Gil, Darke Thorne. Gil probably misses you terribly. His body aches, but not with pain, my friend. Oh no! He aches for you, Darke Thorne because you are his beloved bass. I shall return you at once!" cried Harry as he rushed off to the hospital wing.

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In the hospital wing, Gil reclined comfortably in a very comfortable bed that was Seen by Mel. Cards, candies, flowers, and other trinkets were piled knee-deep around Gil's bed. Another patient, a first year who had been tramped by Hagrid, lay buried beneath the presents. Mel, of course, was at Gil's bedside constantly; anxious to help with his every need and helping him drink his medicine through a trendy bendy straw.

"This straw does not have a loop, Mel," cried Gil, who threw the glass and medicine and straw against the wall. Mel frowned at Gil's diva antics, but nevertheless was stricken with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Gil, these bendy straws do not make good loops," said Mel mournfully as she swooped down upon the mess in order to clean it up.

Gil stroked Darke Thorne with his fingers, running his perfectly manicured fingers down its glossy body. Darke Thorne vibrated, its power fully restored thanks to Harry Potter.

"Now that Darke Thorne's power is fully restored thanks to Harry Potter, I will be able to play at Hogsmead," said Gil.

"Yes," gasped Mel, the excitement was almost too much for her, "The entire school is so excited. Everyone will be in attendance. I See a great show!"

"No doubt I shall rock and roll all night long, baby," said Gil, almost bored. He was growing tired of being in bed.

"Gil, will you be well enough to practice with your band?" ventured Mel.

"I am half-ghost," said Gil, "I do not need to practice."

"That makes sense!" said Mel, cheerfully cleaning the medicine stain from the floor.

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"That makes no sense," said Hermione, "How could Dobby nearly kill Gil?"

"It makes perfect sense, Hermione," said Luna, her voice dripping with mysteriousness, "Everyone and their mom knows that house elves are dangerous. Good thing I do not have any."

Harry shook his head, "Everything I have just recounted to you is true."

"no wai!" said Hermione.

They were sitting about the Hogwarts lawn, getting ready to leave for Hogsmead for Gil's big concert. It was finally time. Would he be healed in time? What about his precious vocal cords? Would they be damaged forever? How would the groupies react?

"I don't know," answered Ron.


End file.
